


Lone Warrior, July 1978

by BobbyCrocker101



Category: Kojak
Genre: 1970s, Assassination Attempt(s), Assassination Plot(s), Attempted Murder, Detectives, Drug Smugglers, Drug Smuggling, Drugs, Gen, Manhattan South, NYPD, New York City
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:00:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24794278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BobbyCrocker101/pseuds/BobbyCrocker101
Summary: Detective Bobby Crocker acts alone after Lieutenant Kojak is seriously injured in a drive-by shooting.This is an original story set in July 1978Feedback welcome





	Lone Warrior, July 1978

**Author's Note:**

> None of the characters belong to me; I'm just playing with them for a while before putting them back in their box. No money is being, or will be made from this story.
> 
> I was 15 in September 1973 when "Kojak" first aired, and had other things to do. Now at the age of 61, I’ve finally watched this wonderful old TV show for the first time. I’m from the UK and have never visited the US, but have made use of the internet to gain information about the NYPD and the city of New York. I apologise in advance for any language confusion.
> 
> In the Season 2 episode “Nursemaid” (1974) Crocker’s ID shows him to have been born in 1943 which would make him 30 in 1973, but because he's occasionally referred to as being very young and is often called "Kid" or "Junior", my version of him was born in 1951 which makes him 27 in this story, and as little is known about his back story, I've made up my own.
> 
> Original characters: Amy De Vere, James Baker, Andrew Jefferson Jameson III, John Barrett, Mr Schneider, Mr Edwards, Mr Chandler, Lloyd Jackson, Marie Stella, Artie Donovan, Katherine Stavros, Mr Grant, Tomkins
> 
> Spoilers: Small ones for my stories 'New Beginnings' and 'Hell Hath no Fury', and of course, a familiarity with the show would be useful. 
> 
> Enjoy!

In a darkened boardroom in Uptown New York, a group of people were seated around a large oak table. A slide of a graph was being projected onto a screen that had been erected in front of the heavily curtained window.

“Mr Edwards,” a voice spoke.

“Thank you Mr Barrett,” another voice replied. “I am able to report with pleasure that the upsurge in steel production has increased profits by seventeen percent. As you know I will be leaving on Friday for Monaco where I will be meeting with Mr Lloyd Jackson, and if all goes as planned our acquisition of Stormont Freight will effectively double our shipping capacity by the end of the year.”

“I’m sure you will relay Mr Jameson’s appreciation to Mr Jackson for his assistance,” Barrett replied.

“Of course,” Edwards replied.

“And inform him that Mr Jameson’s yacht will be available to him during the upcoming festival.” Barrett continued.

“Thank you.” Edwards finished. Barrett pressed a button and another slide appeared on the screen.

“Mr Schneider.” Barrett began, “Would you please report on your activities in Panama.”

“Well, the outlook couldn’t be better Mr Jameson. Import totals exceed fiscal 1977 and with minimal cooperation from Wall Street our stock holders should receive an unprecedented dividend and overall I’m delighted with the progress we’ve made."

“As am I Mr Schneider, and thank you.” Jameson replied.

“Mr Chandler,” Barrett began again, “Could we hear your report on…”

“I’d prefer to move on to YOUR report Mr Barrett,” Jameson interrupted. There was a long silence before anyone spoke.

“Yes sir, of course.” Barrett finally replied. “Reports from Southern California indicate that our operations there have completely terminated, at least for the next two fiscal years. Santa Barbara and San Francisco have also ceased all activities. The doors to Phoenix remain open, as do Denver, but we’ve lost the cross-country Los Angeles to New York access. Consequentially the west coast picture is going to show an 80% loss.”

There was another long silence before Barrett continued.

“Admittedly it isn’t a very pretty picture, but we are… I am… convinced that we still have sufficient strength to regroup in a couple of…” 

Again Jameson cut him off.

“I appreciate all of this optimism for the future, regardless of how distant it might be… but the next report I expect to hear… the only report I’m at all concerned with is the one that says we have eliminated, now and forever, the one individual who is almost single-handedly responsible for the massive damage inflicted upon this organization,” He pressed a button on the slide projector and an image of Lieutenant Theo Kojak appeared on the screen.

****

It was a rainy morning in New York City and Theo Kojak was sitting at his desk at the 11th Precinct reading his mail. In his hand was a copy of a letter informing him that his recent application for Crocker to be selected for promotion to Detective Second Grade had been turned down. He felt bad. It had been his idea to put the kid’s name forward despite the captain's objections that Crocker wasn't ready. He went out to the coffee machine and out of the corner of his eye saw his detective reading a letter which was then screwed up and tossed into a waste basket. He walked over to the young man and patted him on the shoulder.

“I’m sorry you weren’t successful…” he began. Bobby nodded and thanked him. Kojak looked at his watch. “Come on I’ll buy you lunch.” He handed the young man his coat and the two of them headed off to Stella's, the local cop bar: or as someone once called it, the Manhattan South Annex.

****

“…And that’s another thing Crocker,” Kojak began as they emerged onto the wet street, “lay off Marie’s daughter. I want to be able to enjoy my lunch in peace!” For the past few weeks Bobby had been trying to persuade Marie Stella’s younger daughter Ingrid to go out on a date with him - without success. The last time he’d asked the girl out her mother had threatened to ban him from the bar, and she’d even complained to Kojak who’d reminded her that her husband had been a cop, and therein lay the problem. Her husband HAD been a cop, before he'd been gunned down during a failed bank robbery. No way did she want either of her girls to go through what SHE had. To that end, neither of them would ever be allowed to date a cop, no matter how cute. 

Bobby walked round to the passenger side of Kojak’s car. He put his hand up to acknowledge two officers who were sitting in a patrol vehicle a few yards away. He didn’t recognise either of them and guessed they were from another precinct. Out of the corner of his eye he was aware of their car reversing out into the road, then he looked up suddenly when heard the unmistakable sound of metal on metal as the patrol car smashed into a vehicle parked across the street. The squad car then sped towards them, and Bobby became aware that the officer in the passenger seat was holding some kind of shotgun and aiming it at him and the lieutenant.

“Lieutenant! Get down!” Bobby threw himself to the ground behind the Buick. “Lieutenant!” he called out again. As soon as the squad car had gone past he stood up and fired at it, but it was moving away too fast. “Lieutenant!” he called out one last time. He dashed round to the driver’s side of the car and caught the man as he collapsed.

****

It had been over two hours. Two hours and there was still no word. The team had rushed to the hospital as soon as they’d heard the news and were gathered in one of the waiting areas. Bobby sat on a plastic chair in the corridor staring at the closed door of the treatment room, Kojak’s blood down the front of his shirt, on his jacket, on his hands.

“What happened?” McNeil asked kindly.

“Couple of guys dressed as police officers; he’s lucky to be alive.” Bobby replied.

“He’s going to be alright.” McNeil replied.

“No he’s not…” Bobby stammered. “… he’s suffered massage damage… the body can only withstand…” he was unable to finish.

“Well, there’s a chance; there’s always a chance.” McNeil replied.

“Of course there’s always a chance!” Stavros added. He looked at Bobby and didn’t like what he was seeing. After the lieutenant he probably knew the young man the best. At the moment the kid looked totally lost. The treatment room door opened and a doctor approached the team. Everyone looked up.

“He’s suffered multiple gunshot wounds.. We’ve done all we can... he's currently on a ventilator… I'm not holding out much hope. If there's any family... ” the man began. Bobby didn’t wait to hear any more. He got up and walked into the treatment room. A nurse was tidying up and moved out of the way as he approached the bed. He looked down at the lieutenant, a man he’d come to see as a father figure and pulling up a chair sat down. When the doctor reappeared in the room a while later, he got up and went back out into the corridor and sat on a chair next to the captain. Feeling useless, he thumped the arm of the chair, hard, and then put his head in his hands.

“You know there’s nothing at the precinct I can’t do here.” McNeil began. He sensed the men needed to be kept busy, Crocker in particular.

“Yeah,” Bobby quietly replied.

“I think I’m going to stay. I mean one of us ought to be here… just in case we lose him,” McNeil began, as he looked at Bobby. He wondered what thoughts were going through the young man’s head right now and watched as he stood up and stretched. 

“Why don’t you go and wash up… grab something to eat?” McNeil suggested kindly.

“Yeah, I think I will,” Bobby replied.

“Catch up with Stavros and the others; they’ve just gone for coffee.” Bobby nodded and walked away, and then realised he didn’t know where the men’s room was. He stopped a nurse and asked for directions. 

“Captain, would you like me to get you something?” he offered. McNeil shook his head.

Continuing along the corridor Bobby finally found the men’s room and almost collided with a young fair-haired intern who was busy doing up his tunic.

“Excuse me…” he began. The blond man smiled at him and continued on his way. Bobby walked into the men’s room. He ran the cold tap and rinsed his face, and then he looked at his reflection in the mirror, at the blood on his clothes and fought off the tears that threatened to fall. He rinsed his face again. He hadn’t cried when he was a child and he was damned if he was going to start now. In fact the only time could ever remember crying was when he'd been recovering after HE'D been shot, and he blamed THAT on the medication. He hadn’t cried when his mother told him she'd never wanted him. He hadn't cried when he was told she had died. He'd never cried when she or one of her men friends had smacked him for being in the way, or when fearing for their safety he'd finally run away from home taking his sister with him. He hadn’t even cried when his beloved foster father Artie Donovan had died, though God knows he’d wanted to.

Growing up he’d never known who his real father was, and Artie had died while he was away in Vietnam after only being part of his life for eight short years. The lieutenant had taken it upon himself to fill that gap; something Bobby had strongly resisted, having vowed to never let anyone get that close again, but bit by bit the man had broken through his defences and had become a good friend and mentor. Now it looked as if he was going to lose HIM as well. Cursing himself for being selfish, he turned the tap off and walked over to the paper towel dispenser: which was when he saw the body in the cubicle. Remembering the intern he’d collided with in the doorway he ran back out into the corridor where he saw the man further along opening a door. He ran after him and barged the door open. The man was standing in what appeared to be a small kitchen. Bobby grabbed him and shoved him back out into the corridor. He grabbed the intern and tried to push him to the floor, getting a knee to the face for his trouble. The man ran off as Bobby went sprawling to the ground. Two uniformed officers gave chase, but despite their efforts the man got away.

****

An hour later McNeil had commandeered an empty office on the same corridor as Kojak’s room to use as a base of operations. The team had brought some furniture from the precinct and was busy putting it in to position, as well as getting a telephone line installed, but Bobby was getting frustrated. He wanted to be ‘out there’ doing something, and had said so on several occasions.

“Captain…” he began.

“Look Crocker. I know what’s going on out there, better than YOU do!” McNeil replied angrily. He was just as frustrated as everyone else.

“We can’t just sit around captain, waiting for them to make another move!” Bobby replied. 

“Well at this point in time we don’t have much of a choice!” McNeil replied. He knew the team and in particular Crocker was upset. In fact the young man was beginning to concern him. He’d always been Kojak’s ‘special project’, and without his mentor was now in danger of becoming a loose cannon. The last thing McNeil wanted right now was a witch hunt.

“Yes we do!” the young detective replied angrily, “we could take the offensive!”

“How? Who? Where?” the captain asked, “we don’t even know who 'THEY' are!” 

“We go out and look for them!” Bobby replied.

“With WHAT? A bullet in the head?” McNeil replied. “It’s not just Kojak I’m worried about; I’m worried about YOU as well! You going out there now is going to be like shooting a duck in a barrel. I need you to stay calm!” 

His words appeared to have the desired effect and the young man’s anger dissipated. 

“I’ll head back to the precinct,” he offered instead. “Change my clothes… I’m sure some of the guys could use a break.” And with that he headed for the elevator. 

****

Bobby was waiting for the elevator when Stavros walked up to him. He’d been listening to the conversation between Bobby and the captain, and had a feeling that the one place his young colleague was NOT going to was the precinct.

“McNeil send you after me?” he asked sharply, then apologised for his attitude.

“Your keys; you can’t drive without your keys,” the large man replied kindly.

“He’s going to die Stavros; the lieutenant is going to die, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it.” he took a deep breath as if making a decision. “At least from ‘their’ end there isn’t. I’M still here. I’M still alive. They haven’t got ME yet, and until then there had better be something I can damned well do!” The elevator doors opened.

“Here.” Stavros began as he handed Bobby his car keys. “Just be careful OK?” Bobby nodded.

****

As he walked across the hospital garage to his car, Bobby noticed the driver’s door was blocked by an orderly struggling to assist a gentleman in a wheelchair. He was suddenly very tired and just wanted to get in his car and drive somewhere, anywhere; he didn’t really need this right now. 

“Excuse me? You’re blocking my car.” He began pointing to the blue Buick, “Can I give you a hand?” he offered.

“Yes, thanks. I’d really appreciate it,” the orderly replied, his back to the young detective. “If you could take his legs I can grab him under the arms.”

“Yeah, sure.” Bobby replied. The orderly turned the chair round and Bobby realised it was the same man he’d just fought with upstairs. At that moment the ‘patient’ produced a large knife from under his blanket and lunged at Bobby. While he was trying to grab the knife from one man, the other pulled out a gun and fired. He missed Bobby and hit his associate in the back causing him to fall forward. Before he fell to the ground Bobby shoved the dead man at the orderly causing him to drop his gun when he instinctively reached for his colleague. Bobby pulled his gun from his shoulder holster and pointed it at the orderly.

“Talk to me!” he yelled. “Tell me something I don’t know! And I want to hear it NOW!” The orderly stared at Bobby and the young detective could see he was shaking.

“It was a paid hit,” he began. “I don’t know who, I didn’t ask.”

“Who paid?” Bobby asked, not believing the other man for a second, “Give me a name!”

“It was a girl,” The orderly eventually replied.

“What girl?” Bobby asked.

“De Vere; Amy De Vere.”

“Where?” Bobby asked.

“I don’t know!” the orderly replied. Bobby fired his gun twice narrowly missing the other man’s head. “What the hell? You’re crazy! OK! OK! Chelsea Towers, she lives in Chelsea Towers!” Reaching for his handcuffs Bobby ‘attached’ the orderly to the door handle of his car and got on the radio. It was at this point he realised his wrist was bleeding; he must have been cut when he was defending himself from the man in the wheelchair. Reaching in his pocket for his handkerchief, he made a temporary bandage while waiting to be put through to the captain upstairs.

****

“Crocker?” Saperstein’s voice came over the radio, “Where are you? What’s going on?”

“Just get me a patrol car and an ambulance,” he replied “I’m on the third level of the City General garage.”

“That’s right here!” Saperstein commented.

“No kidding.” Bobby replied. “Do something for me? De Vere, Amy De Vere, lives in an apartment in Chelsea Towers. I want someone to run it through the computer and I want the results immediately.”

“You got it!” the other man replied. Just then another voice came over the radio.

“Crocker, this is Stavros. Did you say Amy De Vere?”

“Yeah, Amy De Vere. What’s it to you?” Bobby asked.

“Well… it’s got to be her then.” Stavros replied.

“Who?” Bobby asked, exasperated.

“Well she’s like the 'First Lady' of the modelling world; she’s been on the cover of Vogue, Cosmopolitan, you name it. My kid sister Katherine reads about her all the time.”

****

Arriving at Chelsea Towers Bobby stood outside Amy De Vere’s apartment. He didn’t bother to wait for a response to his knock; he just shouldered the door open and walked inside. Standing across the room from him with a drink in her hand was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. Her dark skin and eyes shone in the candle light that filled the room. She was dressed in a cream silk evening gown; her hair tied up with a matching hairband.

“Don’t move!” he called out, pointing his gun at her.

“I’m sorry?” she replied.

“Who gave you the money to pay for the hit?” he asked as he walked toward her.

“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.” She replied. He grabbed her by the arm. 

"My lieutenant is lying in the hospital in a coma. Now I’m going to put you in a car and take you down town and book you, and then you’re going to be allowed one phone call and what I suggest you say is that you’ve been arrested as an accomplice on two attempted murders and that your boss, who left you ‘holding the bag’… I’m going after him next!”

****

At the hospital Captain McNeil had learned that Bobby had after all gone off alone after the person or persons who had attacked the lieutenant. He wasn’t happy, in fact he was furious, but he also wasn’t surprised. All he could do was hope Crocker stayed out of trouble. He really didn't have the time to send someone to try and locate him and bring him back. There was suddenly a lot of noise and someone was announcing a ‘Code Blue’ emergency. He ran out into the corridor in time to see a medical team disappear into Kojak’s room. 

“Excuse me, Captain?” It was Rizzo. “It’s Crocker on the phone.” McNeil went back into his makeshift office and picked up the phone, relieved that the young man was still in one piece. 

“How’s the lieutenant doing Captain?” Bobby asked.

“I think you’d better get down here right away.” McNeil replied.

Fifteen minutes later Bobby arrived in the corridor. Everyone was gathered outside the treatment room. They patted him on the back and hugged him, glad that he'd come back to them: they needed to stand together at this difficult time. 

“What’s happened?” he asked quietly. “Is he…?”

“We don’t know yet,” McNeil replied. “He’s suffered a cardiac arrest; they’re working on him now.” Bobby slumped down on the floor, his back against the wall and his forehead resting against his knees. Stavros came and stood next to him and put his hand on the young man’s shoulder. He was especially glad that his young friend had come to his senses. 

After what seemed like an eternity the doctor opened the door and came out to greet them; he was smiling.

“He’s alive. He’s still not out of it, but I’ll be damned if he isn’t alive!”

****

“Yeah?... When?” McNeil was sitting at his desk talking to someone on the telephone. Bobby walked into the room. McNeil put his hand over the mouthpiece. “How is he?” he asked, also relieved that Crocker had chosen to return to the hospital rather than go after the gunman alone.

“He’s holding his own.” The young man replied. He walked over to the other side of the room and sat in an armchair. Stavros arrived with a selection of sandwiches and rolls which he placed on the captain’s desk.

“You want anything?” he asked Bobby. The young man shook his head. “How’s your wrist?” he asked. Bobby had finally got round to having the cut on his wrist looked at. It wasn’t that deep, and just needed cleaning, stitching and bandaging.

“It’s OK,” he replied.

“OK, I’ll get back to you.” McNeil spoke as he ended his phone call. He looked over to where Bobby was sat resting his head against the wall, his eyes closed.

“The ‘mechanic’ who tried to ‘waste’ you downstairs in the garage last night…” he began. Someone 'got to him' in his cell in the Tombs; knifed him. He's dead.” Bobby suddenly got up and picked up the phone on the desk and asked the operator to connect him with Bedford Hills; the women’s prison.

“Grant? This is Crocker, Manhattan South. Look, Amy De Vere; we booked her in last night? I want her transferred to maximum security. What? Who ‘sprang’ her?” he asked in disbelief. He wrote down a name and an address on a piece of paper, put the phone down and ran out of the room. McNeil ordered Stavros to follow him. 

****

“Good evening, Detective Crocker,” the lawyer spoke from behind the large oak desk, his attention not straying from the folder in front of him, or from the cigarette he was smoking. The name on the door said his name was James Baker. Bobby walked across the room, sat in a chair and folded his arms. “How can I help you?” The man asked.

“Amy DeVere…” Bobby began. The telephone began to ring. 

“Excuse me.” Baker reached out to answer it. “Yes… No… Tell her I’ll have to call her back… Yes… Fine.” He replaced the receiver and took a deep draft from his cigarette. “Now then… Amy De Vere....” The lawyer began. A large amount of smoke escaped from his mouth.

“Amy De Vere…” Bobby echoed. “Your firm bailed her out this morning.”

“Yes.” Baker replied, as he wrote something in the file he was working on. He still had his head down, something Bobby found very irritating.

“Well who requested it?” Bobby asked. The telephone rang again.

“Excuse me…” the lawyer picked up the receiver. “Yes… No, of course… No, for lunch… Yes, three of us… Fine.” He ended his call.

“Who posted bail for her?” Bobby asked. 

“Detective Crocker, as an officer of the court I’m sure you must know that I cannot divulge…” the telephone rang again. Bobby slammed his hand on the receiver before Baker could pick it up.

“Look. Either you tell your secretary to hold your calls, or I will, so help me.” The man finally looked up at Bobby. He picked up the receiver.

“Yes? No, not right now and… hold my calls… for a few minutes.” He put the phone down. “As I was saying Detective Crocker I’m sure you’re well aware of the legalities…”

“I’m aware of the fact that the lady you sprang from Bedford Hills this morning handled an exchange of money between two killers and a certain unknown individual, or individuals who want my lieutenant dead.” Bobby replied angrily. The lawyer exhaled another large amount of cigarette smoke.

“I’m afraid this is really leading us nowhere Detective. Discussing my client with you, as I’m sure you know, is against the professional ethics of an attorney.” 

“Does murder fit into your ethic?” Bobby asked. The lawyer took another 'drag' on his cigarette.

“I don’t really believe we have anything else to discuss,” he began.

“I guess not.” Bobby replied as he got up from the chair. “But I do want to thank you for one thing.”

“Really?” Baker replied, looking directly at the young detective. “And what might that be?”

“In my confusion about prostitutes, I now know that the high-priced ones can also wear three-piece suits.” The lawyer slowly shook his head and went back to his work. Bobby walked out of the door and into the reception area. He saw Stavros standing by the water cooler.

“What are YOU doing here?” he asked as they walked over to the elevator.

“Trying to catch up to you,” the large man replied. “And you’re in luck as I’m about to make a very special delivery.” As the elevator doors opened he handed Bobby a folded sheet of paper that he had concealed inside his coat. 

“What’s this?” the young man asked as they stepped inside.

“The receptionist’s call sheet containing a list of all the called made today by the Honourable James Baker.” The elevator doors closed. "I tore it out of her ledger when she went to the bathroom." 

Once outside Bobby unfolded the paper and looked at is as he and Stavros walked along the sidewalk.

“Every time I get a door open, I get it slammed back in my face.” He complained. “I’m telling you Stavros, this thing; whatever it is, is bigger than any of us thought.” He looked at the list of calls. “Somebody’s got the power; somebody’s got the control right? And whoever it is is laughing at this puny little cop trying to chip away at a mountain.”

“Maybe; maybe not,” Stavros replied, relieved that Bobby hadn't sent him away. In fact the younger man seemed glad of the company. “We gotta keep pushing; maybe they’ll make a mistake.” Bobby continued to look at the list of calls. 

“Jameson… Jameson. Seven, no eight calls. Who is this guy Jameson?” Stavros nudged Bobby’s arm and pointed across the street.

“There’s a telephone.” 

They crossed over to the other side of the road. Bobby picked up the receiver and put his hand in his pocket. “You got any change?” he asked, “I’m all out.” Stavros handed him some coins. Dialling the number he heard the sound of a phone ringing in his ear, and then a click as his call was answered. Stavros watched as the expression on his young friend’s face changed to one of shock. His hand trembling Bobby replaced the receiver. 

“What?” he asked. “Who answered? Who’s Jameson?” Bobby leaned against the phone booth.

“I don’t know... ” He replied. “I… at least I now know whose number this is.”

“Whose?” Stavros asked.

“The man who turned down the chance to run for the Mayor’s Office because he considered it a step down in power. This is the number for Jameson Industries. It’s the private line to Andrew Jameson!"

****

Back at the hospital Bobby stood next to Kojak’s bed. The man was still unconscious, but at least the ventilator was gone. He sighed.

“I don’t know what to do lieutenant.” He spoke to the room. “I’m pushing the odds...” He shook his head. “…I don’t know what to do. I mean what if… what if…” he shook his head again. “Oh man, what am I talking about?” He began walking round the room. “What am I talking about?” He looked back at the lieutenant and saw his eyelids flutter. “Lieutenant?” he called quietly. “Lieutenant... You’re awake… he’s awake.” He ran to the door and yelled for a doctor, a nurse, anyone. “He’s awake, he’s OK!”

****

“Detective Crocker, I must insist…” the nurse began. 

Bobby was pacing up and down Kojak’s hospital room excitedly waving a large computer print-out. After discussing his recent findings with the captain, he’d decided to share them with the lieutenant while McNeil went and spoke with the Chief and the DA. 

“He’s recovering from a cardiac arrest; he needs peace and quiet. If you don’t leave now, I’ll call Security!" the nurse continued. 

“Good idea; you do that.” Bobby replied. At least that way he could continue reporting his findings to the lieutenant uninterrupted while waiting for the captain to get back from the DA’s office.

“Jameson Holdings; sixth largest holdings company in the United States... " Bobby began as he flicked through the large computer print-out currently spread over Kojak's bed and the floor. “... Holding among others Jameson Petroleum, a short-horn cattle company in Texas, two textile companies, an electronics company, and look here... " he pointed to the list of company addresses, “... Jameson Properties, which owns the condominium of one Miss Amy De Vere…” 

“Detective please!” the nurse begged again.

“What? Oh.” He looked across at the lieutenant who seemed to be enjoying the ‘show’. “Well anyway Lieutenant, listen to this…” at that moment Captain McNeil arrived.

“Captain, will you please tell Detective Crocker to get out.”

“Wait a second captain.” Bobby replied.

“ Crocker…” McNeil began.

“What?” Bobby replied. McNeil pointed to the bed. The lieutenant was asleep. “Oh.” McNeil handed him a piece of paper; a warrant.

“Go and pick up Jameson.” He instructed. Bobby took the paper. 

“You’ll read him the list?” Bobby asked, looking back at the lieutenant.

“I’ll read him the list,” the captain replied smiling. It was good to have Crocker back where he belonged, doing what he was good at instead of looking so lost.

****

Bobby opened the large oak door and entered the wood-lined office. Across the room a white-haired man sat at a large oak desk. He closed the door and leant against it.

“Come in Detective Robert Crocker,” the man spoke. His hands were hidden from view.

“Andrew Jameson,” Bobby began.

“Yes, that’s correct,” the man replied. Bobby began to slowly walk toward him.

“THE Andrew Jameson,” Bobby continued.

Andrew Jefferson Jameson the Third to be correct,” the man replied. “You met my butler Tomkins. Meet my assistant Mr Barrett.” Bobby looked across to the fireplace where a man was slumped in a wing-back chair. His shirt was stained with blood. Single shot to the heart at close range Bobby guessed. “He'd so looked forward to meeting you.”

Bobby recognised the dead man from a recent case he and the lieutenant had been working on. The case had involved drug trafficking. With the assistance of several other police departments across the US they’d closed down a huge operation, but the lieutenant had been forced to give up the identity of his informant, and less than twenty-four hours later the woman had been found murdered. John Barrett had been arrested, but his bail had been paid by an unknown female, possibly Amy De Vere Bobby now realised, and then she and Barrett had simply vanished. It was apparent that someone with money and power was behind the scenes pulling the strings. Now he knew who. Bobby continued to approach the desk. He heard the click of a safety catch being removed.

“You’ve some to arrest me,” Jameson stated. Bobby laid the warrant on the desk. “Ah yes; the warrant,” Bobby pulled out his handcuffs and laid them on the desk next to the warrant. Jameson raised his right hand and pointed a gun at Bobby. “Please.” 

“Are you going to kill me?” Bobby asked, keeping his eyes fixed on Jameson’s. “Try it! You tried to kill my lieutenant. If you kill me he’ll come after you and if you kill him there’ll be somebody else; there’s always somebody else!”

At that moment he lunged forward and grabbed Jameson’s arm. The gun fired upwards and there was the sound of breaking glass overhead as a lamp shade shattered sending shards over the desk and the two men. Bobby grabbed the gun and pointed it at Jameson.

“Stand up!” he yelled. Jameson slowly got up from his chair. Bobby walked round the desk. “Assume the position!” he then shoved the other man face down onto the desk and cuffed him.

“Second largest import-export business out of Hong Kong and my father used to repair sewing machines.” Jameson began. “Easy as alphabet soup he used to say. Nothing can’t be fixed, just put your mind to it. Mr Fixit, that’s what they called him…” the man appeared to be in a world of his own. 

“You have the right to remain silent,” Bobby told him “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney….”

****

A week later McNeil was sitting with Kojak in his hospital room watching the news and eating the food he'd smuggled in: his wife's lemon chicken. The big story of the day had been the trial of Andrew Jameson and the excellent work of the New York Police Department.

“I think we might be in with a chance of getting our hands on the trophy this year.” McNeil began. The ‘trophy’ was a battered home-made tin cup named in honour of a fallen colleague. Each year the various detectives divisions would hold an informal competition to see which one could make the most arrests. Manhattan South always ended up somewhere near the top, but the trophy practically lived in the Bronx, but now thanks to Crocker bringing down Andrew Jameson, one of the most powerful businessmen in the country, he had high hopes.

“You may be right Frank,” Kojak replied. “But as soon as I get out of here I'm going to tear Crocker's head off, and then I'M going to go over to Headquarters and speak to the Promotions Review Board and have his name put back on the list.”


End file.
